


Angelic

by Avocado



Category: Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Bondage, F/M, First Time, Reader smokes and drinks, She/her pronouns, Shibari, Smut, Timeskip, dom! reader, gabriel is male presenting but not male, non human reader, reader is female, sub! Gabriel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-23
Updated: 2019-08-23
Packaged: 2020-09-24 17:22:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,393
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20362255
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Avocado/pseuds/Avocado
Summary: For the first time, Gabriel is interested.





	Angelic

**Author's Note:**

> My friend asked for Gabriel smut and who am I not to indulge her every whim
> 
> Anyway all the “plot” is just for the buildup to smut

The first time he sees you, it’s in a bar. He doesn’t go to them often. It’s not somewhere an angel should be seen but duties must when they come from Higher Up. It’s a seedy place, the kind of bar where regular customers narrow their eyes with suspicion when a new face walks in. And when Gabriel steps through the door, he’s faced less with narrowed eyes and more full-on squints.

You’ve got a cigarette in one hand and the other clasped around a tumbler of whiskey - as if you don’t quite trust the patrons not to try and snatch it away from you. Your red lipstick leaves a telling mark on both objects, a trail of ruby in your wake. He comes to stand by you but doesn’t sit; the bar stools are sticky with something and he doesn’t really want to find out what.

“Figured you’d find me sooner,” you say, your voice liquor-smooth and heady.

“Well, you weren’t incredibly high up on our list,” Gabriel replies, wiping his hands on his jacket even though he hasn’t touched anything yet. You don’t look at him, instead staring with an odd intensity at the bright bottles on the bar shelves in front of you.

“So honey, what can I help you with?”

“It’s not ‘honey’. It’s ‘Gabriel’. And I was tasked to track down the double agent.”

“‘Double agent’,” you parrot with a snort. “That implies I’m working for either side. Which I don’t.”

  
”Yet you profit off both.”

“I find a marketplace for my skills, is all. It’s a harsh world out there.”

“Hey, is this guy botherin’ you?!”

One of the bar’s patrons is attempting to square up to Gabriel. He’s about a foot shorter and reeks of booze. Gabriel can feel his hand rise, unafraid to bring down a little almighty intervention.

“Oh, he’s no bother, thank you sir,” your voice has changed now - saccharine and dripping with sweetness. The man is taken aback by your charm and falters physically. He glances between the two of you before muttering “well let me know if you need any help” and scuttling back to his badly-played game of pool.

“No need for smiting. He’s just a drunk guy. They’re everywhere.”

“Humans are disgusting,” Gabriel sniffs. Just because his boss made them doesn’t mean he has to _like_ them.

Finally you turn to look at him. He’s surprised by how tired you look. You glance him up and down and nod appreciatively.

“Figures heaven goes in for that classically handsome shit.”

“That what?”

“Don’t worry,” you swig down the rest of your drink. “So, what are you going to do now, Gabriel?”

He doesn’t like the way you say his name. As if each syllable personally offends you.

“You going to turn me in to the boss for a sweetie and a pat on the head? I don’t think I’m actually doing anything against the rules.”

He purses his lips. Technically, you’re right. What you’re doing isn’t necessarily aiding one side or the other so there’s not really a need for punishment. It is… he remembers it being described as “cheeky”, though.

You have a little notebook on the table. One half of it details what you’re going to write in the Celestial Observer, the other for how you’ll frame the article for the Infernal Times. One reporter running two rival newspapers. The same story pitched for different audiences. Keeping heaven and hell up to date with the exact same news.

“If you arrest me you won’t find anyone else to take my job. I think I’m more use on the field.”

That is also true. He doesn’t know a single angel who doesn’t read your newspaper, or at least look at the new updated app version of it.

“So I just tell my boss… what? That I let you go?”

“You tell her the truth,” you stab your cigarette out violently on the ashtray, perhaps imagining it’s his face. “You tell her you found the reporter, she wasn’t doing anything harmful, so you let her go.”

Gabriel hesitates, but it’s enough of an opening for you to hop off your barstool and grab your bag.

“If it’s really a problem you can find me again. You tracked me down once, the next time shouldn’t be so hard.” You reach up and pat his cheek condescendingly. “Have a good day, Gabe.”

You walk out the door.

And for the first time in over a millennia, Gabriel is interested.

*  
India must be hot, given how people around him are acting. He doesn’t really feel the temperature. His corporeal form may be touchable but it doesn’t react to weather; they didn’t deem it a necessary feature for angels.

You’re dressed in a loose fitting dress and sunglasses. The cigarette and whiskey are missing but the red lipstick remains. You’re watching a crowd of people. They’re encircled round a little girl and all of them are talking at once, faces animated with excitement and awe.

“You look like a lost tourist,” you say, giving him a cursory glance over. “Do you ever change clothes?”

“Sometimes.” He does when he exercises. Exercise isn’t something he doesn’t need to do but he likes the way humans look at him when he does it. With jealousy that he’s in good health and they aren’t.

“If you’re gonna stand here you’ve gotta blend in. Or I’m walking away.”

He checks the area and sees that nobody is watching. They’re too engrossed in whatever they’re surrounding. In a blink of an eye his jacket and turtleneck are replaced by a loose shirt and linen slacks. You nod.

“Well you still look like a tourist, but at least not lost. Why are you here?”

“I wanted to check this one out for myself.”

That’s the. But he omits the part where he wanted to see you again.

The crowd part as a young boy steps forward, being led by his father. His eyes are grey and blind. A girl, no more than seven, is waiting. The crowd goes silent as she places her hands on the little boy’s face and her head is jolted back and she begins to scream. The people go into a panic but something incredible happens, she falls to her knees and suddenly the boy is looking around, seeing. Cheers erupt and both the children are paraded on shoulders.

“Huh. It’s true. A miracle healer.” You jot something down on your notebook. “Your guys will go crazy for this. The others? Probably not so much.”

“You don’t have to report it to them.”

“My job is to tell the truth. I don’t take sides.”

You tuck your little pad back into your pocket.

“Who are you?” he asks. Clearly it’s not a question you were expecting. You snort.

“Do you really think that’s important?” you ask.

“Well there’s got to be a reason you’re doing all this. And both those newspapers have been running for centuries - if you’re the only one working on them, you can’t be human.”

“You know what I am Gabe. If you can’t remember, that’s your problem.” You light a cigarette as you walk away. “I’ll see you next time.”

He’s going to ask how you know there will be a next time but in the pit of his stomach he knows you’re right. You’ll see him again. The apocalypse never happened, so he needs something to keep him occupied.

Maybe it will be figuring you out. And after all, he can’t remember the last time he actually looked forward to anything.

*  
He’s changed this time. Trying to fit in. After all, it’s a party.

It’s in LA and everything is ostentatiously loud. The houses are huge and the get togethers are bigger. He, like every other man (or male presenting person) is dressed in a black tux. He doesn’t like wearing black. It’s not very angelic. Also this suit is uncomfortable no matter how many times he pulls awkwardly at his collar with a finger. It’s stifling - both the amount of people here and their awful personalities.

And there you are, standing to the side, watching the proceedings with a glass of wine in your hand. You look incredible, a black dress which hugs you in all the right places. He feels something stirring in him when he looks at you, something unfamiliar. Something _human_.

You don’t look impressed with it all - not the ice sculpted swan nor the dancing ladies - but do cock an eyebrow when you see him.

“People shall say we’re in love,” you tell him as he approaches.

“What?” he snaps.

“It’s a quote from _Silence of th_\- oh look, don’t worry about it.” You take a long drink. “Were you ‘interested’ in this one too?”

No. He just wanted to see you. But he’s too proud to say that. Luckily you save him the embarrassment of answering when you shove your glass into his hand.

“I need a smoke. Hold this.”

Gabriel doesn’t object, instead looking at the red lipstick stain on the side. He wonders if you’ve left that stain on men, women. He wonders if he feels jealous, and he wonders why.

“Everyone here seems terrible,” he remarks.

“Welcome to the lifestyle of the rich and famous. You have enough money to be a dick to everyone,” you scan the crowd of white-teethed laughing faces, “there’s a guy here who claims he can walk on water. It’s probably a con. But he’s made enough of a stir that it’s worth investigating.”

“Hey baby. You here on your own?”

The man approaching you reminds Gabriel of the guy at the bar when you first met, just with about an extra fifty million dollars. His face is red and he’s sweating through his suit. He probably has enough money not to care though.

“Oh, sorry honey.” Suddenly your arm is linked through Gabriel’s and your pulling yourself flush against him. “I’m here with my husband.”

“Husband, huh?” the man looks him up and down. God, Gabriel misses the days when you could smite someone and it wasn’t a big deal.

Really he should be offended at your audacity. He’s an archangel. Nobody should dare to act so familiar with him.

But for some reason he finds himself putting a hand on your waist and pulling you in.

“Yeah, she’s _mine_. So turn around and walk away before we have a problem.”

The man clearly wants to fight Gabriel on this, but he takes a look at Gabriel’s height and width and walks away.

You don’t pull away from Gabriel. And he doesn’t let you go.

“I’m ‘yours’, huh?”

“It made him leave didn’t it?”

A pause.

“Gabe…”

“_Gabriel_.”

“Hmm.” You take a drag of your cigarette. “Next time you can just ask me on a date, you know.”

He scoffs.

“I’m an angel. You think I want to go on a date?”

“Don’t you?”

Once again, he doesn’t answer. He doesn’t like to lie but in this case he doesn’t want to tell the truth either. Instead he just enjoys the feeling of his hand on you.

Eventually you pull away and he resents the absence. You don’t look like you actually want to let go but people are beginning to flock towards a swimming pool and it looks like something is about to happen. Before you’re gone you hesitate and turn back.

“Look. I live in New York. There’s a pizzeria a block down from me that I like - meet me there next Wednesday if you wanna talk more.” You whip your notebook out of your bra and scribble something down on it, tearing off the paper and gently sliding it into his breast pocket. You stay stood like that for a moment, your hand on his chest.

He doesn’t get a chance to say anything else before you walk off into the crowd.  
*

He’s not dressed in his usual attire, but it’s not far off. More of a casual look. He’s noticed that, despite how much he hates when you point out his flaws, he does have a tendency to stick out. So he’s dressed down today. A plain white tee and light grey jeans. He’s still got his blazer on but it looks less formal with the rest of the ensemble. He fidgets nervously outside the pizzeria and once again checks the address you gave him.

“Finally catching on to fashion?” your voice rings out pure and confident down the street.

“Figured I should wear something that wouldn’t make me a target for mugging,” he states. You give his outfit an appreciative nod. You’re not dressed dissimilarly, blue jeans and fancy top. And of course, the lipstick.

“Come on,” you say, and bring him into the tiny building. It’s quite busy but the owner recognises you and shouts out your name with a big smile. A table is set up for you in the corner. There’s a candle in the middle of it. Gabriel sits awkwardly in his little wicker chair, the complete opposite to how you are - so comfortable and at home in these human places.

“Do you eat, Gabe?”

“No. I don’t put that junk into my heavenly form.”

You laugh and tell your waiter that you’ll take two pepperonis and a bottle of red.

“So. Why did you come?” you ask as you pour you each a glass of wine.

_Because you asked me to_.

“Because I was curious. You never answered my question.”

“And what question is that?”

“Who are you?”

Your hand hesitates for only a second. A couple of drops of wine spill from the stream and saturate the tablecloth in red dots. You carefully set the bottle on the table.

“Are you asking me that because you’re interested or because you’re reporting in to Her?”

Another question he doesn’t know how to answer. You chuckle sadly.

“See, that’s why I can’t respect you, Gabe. You’re too grovelling to authority. You’ve gotta go something for yourself for once. So,” the pizzas are set down in front of you both, greasy and steaming, “are you going to be angelic and refuse to eat because you think it’ll ‘sully’ you, or are you going to take a bite?”

Gabriel stares at the circle of cheese and meat in front of him.

And he picks up a slice.

It’s surprisingly… fine. Good, even. He finds himself easily downing piece after piece. It’s hot and slippery with fat and floods his mouth with flavour. Soon the whole thing is gone. He looks up and you’re watching him with a smile.

“You left your crusts.”

He looks at his plate.

“You’re meant to eat those too?”

“You don’t have to. You gonna drink your wine?”

He takes the glass with confidence and quaffs it. The alcohol makes him feel warm and a bit dizzy, but not unpleasant. You pour him another glass and he drinks that too.

“You like me, don’t you?” You down your glass as well. The world is rose-coloured.

“I think you’re interesting.”

“I’ll take that as a yes then.” A pause. “Do you want to come back to mine?”

…

“Yes.”

You don’t take him by the hand and lead him, but he stays on your heels as you go nonetheless. The walk is in silence - tense, and thick, and waiting for something to snap. And it will.

Your flat is up three flights of stairs. They’re dark and dirty and a guy is passed out in the entranceway. The apartment itself is small and crammed with bric-a-brac and mismatched furniture. He doesn’t see much of it because you bring him to your bedroom. It’s small. The bed takes up most of the space.

You turn to him at the threshold and put a hand on either side of the doorway. You’re very close to each other now. Centimetres away. He can feel your breath on his face.

“Have you ever kissed anyone before, Gabe?”

“No.”

“Do you want to kiss me?”

“_Yeah_.”

You put your arms around his neck. It feels odd, your lips against his. And yet he finds himself moving against them easily with his own. It’s a wet experience but not unenjoyable. His hands come up to your waist and grip. You make a little noise under him and bring yourself up against him harder.

He pushes down on you. Your mouth opens up and he feels your tongue swipe against his lips. He gently touches the tip of it with his own and it feels _electric_.

“Are you going to come to bed with me.”

“I... If you want.”

You snort. “Yeah. I want. I never said there was anything _wrong_ with classically handsome you know.”

You put a hand on his chest and walk him backwards. His legs hit the back of the bed and he falls down onto it, bouncing a little on the well-used mattress. You put a leg either side of his lap and push your breasts up against his chest. You give an experimental grind of your hips. Then furrow your brow and do it again.

“If you want this to feel good, you’ll want to manifest something down there.”

He feels himself flush but does so anyway. A smile creeps across your face when on the third try with your hips, you feel him stir beneath you. You kiss him and he lies back under you, bringing you with him. A hand goes onto either of his shoulders and you push him down hard. If he could bruise he imagines that he would. Your kisses turn go from his mouth to his neck. He lets out an involuntary little moan and he hears you chuckle in response.

“You like taking orders, don’t you?”

He knows what you want to hear and this time, he doesn’t have a problem telling the truth.

“I d o. Why, you want to give them to me?”

You straighten up and look down your nose at him. Your face goes from playful to serious in a blink. It goes straight to his newly manifested dick. He’s never been more ready to follow a command.

“Take off your clothes.”

He could miracle them off. He could. But instead he does it manually. He enjoys the sensation of fabric being freed from his body. The sense of cool air on bare skin. You strip down to your underwear, a pair of lacy black things - you clearly decided earlier how this evening was going to go. You put a foot up on the bed between his legs.

“Are you good at following commands?”

“Yes ma’am.”

“Then you won’t move, will you?”

“No.”

“That’s what I like to hear.”

He watches you as you reach under the bed.

And pull out the rope.

Your hands are deft over him, tying knots and securing his body onto itself. His cock is red and leaking as you go, stood to attention and bobbing against his stomach. You seem impressed with it. He doesn’t really know what the average size is meant to be, so he went for ten inches. When you touch it it’s like nothing that he’s ever felt before. He thrusts up towards your hand but you stop moving in response and stare at him, silently ordering him to still. It takes every ounce of willpower but he manages to force his corporeal form not to move again as you keep the bonds going around him.

Your work goes on for ages. The knots get tighter and his cock gets harder.

He’s stacking up the sins. Deadly sin of gluttony. Deadly sin of greed. Deadly sin of lust. And yet, he can’t bring himself to care.

Eventually you take a step back and take a look at your handiwork. His cock is bound upright against the trail of hair that leads up from his pubic hair to his navel.

“How does it feel?”

“Ungh…”

“Use your words, honey.”

“_Incredible_.”

“That’s good,” you pull off your panties and he almost fucking faints at the blood trying to get to his dick.

“Though, I think we can put that tongue to better uses.”

You start crawling up over him, keeping your body just above him so it doesn’t touch. It’s driving him wild. And then you lower your cunt down on his face and he almost discorporates.

He’s not quite sure what to do with his mouth. This is all very new to him. But it doesn’t really matter because you grab his hair and begin to grind down onto his face, rubbing your clit up and down him. You moan and he guesses he’s at least doing something right. He works up on your slit with his tongue and he likes the noises that it coaxes out of you. You taste tangy and sweet and hey, he’s only actually tasted three things - but this is definitely the best of them all. He’s smothered by your thighs and by the heat of your pussy and he thought he’d been in heaven for all these years but he wasn’t, it’s here, between your legs.

You come over his face. He loves it. But not as much as when you move back down his body and your warm wet cunt sits on his cock.

“You want me to bring this thing out?”

“Fuck. Christ. Yes.”

He’s taking the Lord's name in vain but maybe he can get away with it considering the circumstances. You gently change the knots around him and he springs upwards. The laugh that comes out of you is beautiful. Angelic. And then you sit on his cock and he almost comes right there.

Luckily he holds himself back and you begin to move. It’s like nothing he’s ever experienced. Every nerve ending he has feels like it’s on fire and screaming for you, you, you. You must love the stretch and hardness of him inside you from the way your head lolls back. Each languid stroke of your hips pushes him a step closer to ecstasy and he wants to touch you but these infernal knots keep him down.

He could miracle them away. But he gets the feeling you wouldn’t like that.

Instead he stays bound and under you. You continue to ride him. The ropes burn a bit. But it feels incredible.

You come again and the feeling of you floods his dick. He comes hard. It’s heavenly.

You lie back, panting hard. Then you snap your fingers and the ropes are gone.

“How was it?” you ask. He flexes his wrists and tries to get the blood flowing back in his form.

“I get why humans do it all the time.”

“Well, not exactly like that. But yeah.”

“So,” he says at length looking up at you. “Are you going to answer me now?”

You sigh and get up, go over to the little window and throw it open. The lights from New York light up the room.

“You don’t waste time, huh?”

A shaking hand brings your cigarette to your lips. You close your eyes and he can see the muscles in your back flex under your skin. He can see the pain in your clenched jaw as your wings begin to unfold.

They aren’t a bright white like his, nor are they black like he knows demons to be. Instead they’re grey and so think they’re almost translucent. Barely wings at all. The moonlight filters through them. You give him a wan smile when you see him staring.

“When the first ones fell, there were those of us who didn’t take a side. We decided to stay neutral. And so when it was all over and the ‘bad’ ones were downstairs, they decided there needed to be a place for us. Because She wouldn’t keep us and the other guy wouldn’t take us in either. So they made a place inbetween. It became the place where humans would go when they weren’t bad enough to go to hell, but not good enough to go to heaven either. We were the test dummies for purgatory.

“Eventually they forgot about us. And we get out. And we had to try and find ways to make ourselves indispensable in the human world. So I started the papers. Makes me an asset without actually ever owing side anything. Because I can’t take orders from them any more. I don’t owe them shit and this way, I get to do things on my terms.”

Gabriel reaches out and touches your leg. He feels a tear drip from off of your chin and onto his hand. With another long shaking breath and drag on your cigarette you keep going.

“That’s why it would never work between us. You’re too committed to your side. And I’m not interested in following anyone’s rules ever again. I’m a free agent now.” You sigh and look at him and he can see you’re crying freely now. “I like you a lot, Gabriel. But we’re two very different entities.”

You stand up and flick the butt out of your open window and pull your clothes back on.

“I’m… I’m going to go. You can let yourself out.”

You pretty much run away. He wants to call after you, but he doesn’t know what he’d say. He understands it. Why you’re like this. And he wants to say that he can still be with you, that he can help. But he can’t. He knows he can’t. And he can’t lie to your face.

He lies there for a moment in your empty apartment. And then he miracles his clothes back on and leaves. The door shuts hollowly behind him.  
*  
The next time he sees you it’s in Croatia. You’re standing inside a church, looking up at a statue of the crucifixion. You don’t look at him, like that first time all over again.

“Apparently this statue cries. Thought it was worth investigating.” A small sigh. “Why did you come here?”

“Isn’t it obvious?”

“I didn’t think I’d see you again.”

“Yeah. I wasn’t sure you would either.”

“So why’d you look for me?”

He doesn’t say anything. But he reaches out and takes your hand. You don’t react for a moment before gently putting your fingers through his.

Because maybe there could be more to his life than just being angelic all the time. 


End file.
